


And when I ask the gods for a answer I see galaxies instead

by Superheronerd_1



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: All the men are smart, Harry is smart, M/M, angsty, friendships, i guess, oh man its weird calling them men, one direction men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-05-05 09:39:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5370557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Superheronerd_1/pseuds/Superheronerd_1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What I believe of what could have happened a few months before Zayn left.</p><p>Or </p><p>Zayn Malik searches in the stars for the galaxies in which he's not part of One Direction and free when one of the smartest people he knows comes out .</p>
            </blockquote>





	And when I ask the gods for a answer I see galaxies instead

It's one of those nights that he can go outside with nobody chanting his name at the top of their lungs, a night that's so dark and the air is clear and no buildings that he can see the stars and galaxies he's not apart of. 

He likes those nights. 

He likes that he can imagine what he's like in those galaxies, tries to imagine that he's some boring old accountant in one and then a struggling artist in another, or in some he's just a trophy husband. 

Galaxies that he can see in the eyes of the rest of the boys, in Niall's blue and Liam's brown. Guilt would wash over him when he thinks about the fact that his galaxies would forget about them, but not because he has ill feelings. No, his distant selves would be watching these four incredible and talented and simply amazing boys sing on the telly and be buying their music. 

Or he likes to think that. 

He doesn't think in those galaxies he's controlled by anyone. Sure, he could be financially unstable and might be living in terrible houses, but he was in control. He could quit his job, take a cab to no where and start over. He could spray paint a wall and tell the world what he was really feeling with no worries because he wasn't a idol for a incredible amount of people. 

He could say he was angry and frustrated and chained down and no one would care because who was he but a picture on the wall of a old shop?

Zayn liked those nights when he could be Zain, the boy who didn't end up famous and didn't change his name spelling and was free. 

Who wasn't as angry and shackled down, and that's why he has those galaxies. He's a free spirit, his soul isn't connected to his body right (if at all). He needs to jump, he needs to run to play to get into trouble. 

He needs to be free from the binds of a corporation that controls the very moment he wakes up to the second his head touches his pillow. 

“Zayn?”

He looks over, Harry in the doorway. His hair is up halfway, slightly damp from sweat, with eyes that are wide and blurry. He's wearing sweatpants and what is probably Louis’s jumper and he's staring at him. 

Zayn wishes desperately that, even if irs for one second at a concert he managed to get meet and greets for, that in his galaxies he met Harry Styles. A man who's so innocent but not and controlled but doesn't ever act like it. 

Harry Styles was meant for more than this. 

“Why are you awake?” Zayn looks down at his watch, 4:07 am. 

“why are you?” Curly walks up next to him, shoulders touching and he's looking up in the stars. “It's beautiful tonight.”

Zayn nods, but he's looking at Harry now. 

Harry who has had to hide his relationship for years, who had to watch his love be ‘in love’ with another woman (even if that said women was a lovely being and hated the ordeal almost as much), who's been called ‘slow’ and ‘whore’, who has been stalked by over enthusiastic fans and has had heavy things thrown at him, who has become an object that girls (and guys) like to imagine having sex with. 

Of course, there are fans who know the truth, who fight the ones who make Harry uncomfortable. But no one listens to them, not even HQ. Which is a shame, because they are his favorite sort of fans, fans that remembered that they were all human and not just a brand.

Harry who has never once showed signs of leaving this world, even for a moment.

“What do you think you would be doing if you weren't in One Direction?”

Zayn asks this question many times, and Harry always has the same answer. 

“I'd probably become a chef or maybe a teacher. I'd definitely be feeling incomplete tho, and probably always wonder what that feeling was.” Harry waves his hand towards the earth below them. “Would it be the people chanting my name? Tweets and declarations of love towards me? Or maybe it would be singing for crowds and knowing that they love me. Possibly it would be the group of friends I have, because obviously they would be a bunch of losers. Would it be who I was in a relationship with, seeing how I wouldn't be with my soul mate.” Harry would keep going, mentioning everything he has done in the past four years, but Zayn cut him off. 

“You and I both know you and Lou would have found each other. How many times did you to run into each other because X-Factor? Twelve?”

Harry smiles, like Zayn knew he would. Dimples and all. “Once. And we didn't even meet.”

“close enough.” Zayn turns back to the sky and in the stars. 

“What about you?”

 

“Free.” Zayn says. “Free.”

Harry doesn't ask free from what because he knows, but he nods and that's a sign for Zayn to continue.

The streets are lite up, occasional honks and and the sound of emergency sirens. But they don't reach the ears of a man who is telling the story of the galaxies. 

He tells Harry about the angry street artist, the struggling accountant and the one in the in awful house. He talks about them like their real and his closest friends, as if he's actually lived their lives. He talks of freedom of doing what he wants, of going anywhere he can because he's in control control control. 

And when he's done he stands back, hands gripping the rails of the hotel balcony like he's going to be whisked up in the stars to the lives he's only thought about. 

But who that be a bad thing?

Harry is standing there, a man who has heard this a thousand times but he never complains. Zayn is sure that if asked he could name the shoes of the accountant or how many places the street artist vandalized or the miles the runaway crossed. 

Zayn loves Harry, god he's loves Harry and Louis and Niall and Liam all so fucking much. His heart swells to the size of Europe, and it bangs I'm his chest. 

But he also loves freedom of walking down the street with no one calling his name, the thought that he could do his own shopping. 

Laundry, oh god he wants to wash his own clothes again. 

“Are you going to write your music still? Or atleast the type of music you like?”

Zayn looks over to Harry, who's staring at him. He remembers the sweet boy from X-Factor, curls on his forehead and eyes wide as saucers, when he was this short little kid who didn't think more then becoming someone who can change the world by his singing.

Granted, he did do that. Harry Styles with the infamous gravelly voice, whose soul was made for the excitement and energy of having thousands of eyes on him. The music industry will never be the same because of One Direction, once thought to be a stupid boy band who would break up within a year. 

“What do you mean?”

Harry is looking at up with all the secrets in the world. Why did the media ever think he was a idiot, when he was one of the smartest people Zayn knew? Granted his science wasn't all that great and dividing anything more than a even double digit takes a bit longer but academic success doesn't give him the title of genius. 

He tilts his head and hair falls out the already messy bun. “Are you going to keep writing your music?”

It sounds pained, like he hates to say these words out loud. But Harry knows exactly what he's talking about, Zayn is sure. 

So he nods, even if he's not 100% sure of why he's being asked this. 

A few months later and he's saying good bye. Harry is looking at him with wide eyes, the only one in the room. 

Louis stared at him, too shocked to say anything. He turned to rest of the guys, and he only one who didn't look shocked was Harry. 

He was the first one to leave the room. 

Liam demanded questions, and each one worse than the former. He had tears in his eyes, and Zayn knew how much it hurt him, how much pain he himself has caused Liam. Liam, who he was partly in love with and if asked on a date wouldn't even say yes but would be in the car waving and yelling “Hurry up!”

Liam followed Louis a hour later. 

Niall sat in the couch, nail in his mouth and other hand gripping the arm. He stared at the floor, processing everything. His knee shook and Zayn was worried it was going to be injured worse when Niall looked up. 

Niall, sweet boy who Zayn would and will always fight the world's for. Would fight the galaxies if they even dared to hurt him in anyway. 

But then, it's hard to fight himself.

Eventually, Niall does stand. He stands and takes in a shaky breath and nods. “Alright. “.he says. “Alright.”

Reaching out to grip Zayn's hand, he interlocks their fingers together and squeezes. 

Then he walks out, and it's only Harry who is on the couch. 

Zayn looks at him. “You knew.”it comes out soft.

Harry nods, his hands clasped together. “Are you going to keep writing music?”

It's silent for moments, then minutes. Zayn is looking at the ground, processing what he did. 

He's free, now. He can jump in the car and go, go off the map. Maybe not now, no, the hearts he's going to break in a few days will see to that, but one day. Next year?

Soon he can make the galaxies come to him, he can do what he wants when he wants and not worry about who is going to see it. 

But Harry isn't having that, and ask again if he's going to write music. 

And Zayn knows he can't just abandon his music, something that has represented him for so long. 

So he looks up at Harry and for a instant he sees the boy who picked up Louis without knowing who he was, he sees all the boys. 

Niall with his braces, Louis with that hair that wrapped around his head and Liam who was fragile he was scared that one comment about the dirt on his shoes he would break. 

He remembers exclaiming “Vas happening!” and the live streams, the excitement of their first song then their first album.The places he travelled, the experiences he had. 

The house he bought for his mother. 

He can't give this up, not yet. 

But he can't be controlled. 

Won't be, not anymore. 

He's free.


End file.
